


Doggerel is Coming

by HarpiaHarpyja



Series: A Song of Trash and Fire [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Drunk Sex, Attempted Titty Worship, Blowjob Haikus, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Drunk Body Poetry with Ben Solo, Drunken Kissing, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Mush, POV Rey, Rey is a Divine Beauty, Romantic Fluff, Sloppy Makeouts, Terrible poetry, Topless Bearhugs, drunken antics, reylo freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 23:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja
Summary: To mark their first month as a couple—after, you know, ten years of just not getting it—Rey and Ben enjoy a night out and overindulge on the alcohol front. When they return to Rey's place, they attempt to continue the celebrations . . . but things go quickly off track.(A companion interim ficlet for 'A Song of Trash and Fire: Ben and Rey Make a Porno', taking place in May 2019, between Chapters 14 and 15.)





	Doggerel is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Ben has insisted he does not like poetry—now we know it's just because he sucks at it.

Rey groped around for the light switch in the apartment, then groped around Ben’s waist and circled it with her arms from behind, latching onto him as if she would get lost otherwise. She might; the floor appeared to be spinning somewhat. In the dark, they continued on at a four-legged stumble toward the hall—she hadn’t managed to turn the lights on despite her brief, imprecise search for the switch. Frankly, it was shocking that she had remembered to lock the door behind them.

“Wait, wait,” she protested, not actually stopping. “I wanna glass of water. Kitchen’s that way.” She made a half-assed attempt to drag him backward. It instantly failed.

Ben mumbled some distorted protest but didn’t budge. “Is Rose out?”

“Hmm.” Rey tightened her arms around his middle and let her forehead rest between his shoulder blades. He felt so nice and _solid_ , especially when she was feeling the very opposite herself. And he’d asked a good question. It was taking her longer than it should have to find the answer. “Yes? Yes. Where’re we going?”

“Bedroom. Thought that was obvious.”

It was obvious, or should have been. She didn’t really need that glass of water right now, did she? It could wait for later. After whatever they were going to do. At the moment her limbs weren’t cooperating, and everything in her line of sight was wreathed in a slight haze. 

They’d gone out to the Harbor Park to have dinner and celebrate their first month together. It had been kind of funny, considering how long they'd known each other to begin with, and they'd both insisted by turns that they were _not_ going to be one of those couples that made a big deal out of anything even resembling a milestone. But they'd also both agreed that this was worth celebrating, this once—and ended up drinking far more than planned. And while she now felt giddy and happy, she was going to have to rally in the next few minutes if any more celebratory activities were going to happen tonight. They had the apartment to themselves. It was too good to pass up.

It _was_. Rey giggled at some half-formed thought and let herself be dragged along by Ben. As they drew near the bedrooms, he began turning them into Rose’s instead of hers. 

“No!” she cried, throwing her weight back on her heels to stop his progress. 

“Huh?”

“Wrong room. Don’t think Rose would appreciate us having . . . a slumber party in her bed.” 

“Slumber party,” he muttered, then continued to stand in the doorway of Rose’s room like he didn’t quite believe her. “Is her bed bigger than yours?” 

Oh no, he was getting _ideas_ , she could tell. It was time to cut this one off before he became too set on it. So she did what made the most sense to her in that moment.

She tried to lift him up and move him. She was strong. She could do it—except she definitely couldn’t, and her utter failure only made her grow loopier. She got a better idea and let her hands slide from where they were clasped over his ribcage down to his crotch. She was attempting to get his fly down, but it was hard to do from behind and while drunk, so she just ended up groping him repeatedly as she fumbled. 

“I thought you said this was the wrong room,” he said, halfway to laughing himself. “What’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” She stubbornly refused to quit even as she struggled to speak between gasps of giggling. “Release the kraken, you! Release! Release!”

He gave a short burst of laughter and shooed her hands away. “Yeah, release is the plan. Someone’s had a little too much rum tonight.”

While Rey puzzled over whether he meant her or himself, Ben turned and made it to the correct bedroom. She followed on his heels, throwing her cardigan off as he did a much better job than she had of getting a light on, then flung herself at him the moment he turned around. By some miracle of physics, despite their lack of sobriety, he caught and lifted her, albeit far less smoothly than he usually managed, so that she could get her legs around him—or try to. But his hand slipped and tickled her, and she shrieked against his lips and bucked away. A moment later he’d dropped her and she was tumbling back onto the mattress. 

A few seconds passed and she began to wonder why she was still alone in bed; she soon realized it was because he was having a bit of trouble with his shirt, which he’d tried taking off and then gotten stuck halfway out of. With a sigh she got to her feet, stumbled toward him, and grabbed the hem to yank it the rest of the way over his head. “You’re hopeless.” 

“Beg to differ.” He leaned forward for a kiss, still shaking one arm out of his sleeve, but missed her lips and got a mouthful of her chin instead. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, hitting his mark on the second attempt. 

With minimal coaxing from Rey, they were horizontal soon enough—but evidently he was having the same coordination issues as she was. He struck his head on the headboard as he laid back to let her climb on top of him, swore loudly, then went right back to kissing her. 

“Oh no, you okay?” she managed to get in when he paused for a breath, patting at the spot he’d hit with what she hoped was appropriate gentleness. Though given the fact that the gesture was met with an “ _ow_ ” from him, she rather doubted it. He didn’t seem to care much either way, because he only became more insistent—and sloppier, too—as he tugged at her shirt. She wasn’t much better.

Nearly laughing again, she broke for air and had to press her hand over Ben’s mouth to halt him. He relented after a few seconds and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Is this the face mashing you warned me about?” she asked. He’d _mentioned_ mashing faces once, some time—God, it was right before they’d filmed their scene for the porno—and she’d said she hoped he was better at kissing than that. Usually, he was. But tonight was seeing neither of them at their finest. 

She felt his tongue slide over her palm once, and then again, and scrunched up her face. He seemed to find her reaction entertaining and licked her palm one more time, looking her deliberately in the eyes, then blew a raspberry against it. Rey tried to be serious but failed spectacularly, grinning as she said, “Stop being gross.”

When she took her hand away he shrugged. “Mashing? You want mashing? _Well_ , get ready . . . ready for . . . this rev—revelation. I can mash more than just faces.” 

His hands went to her butt to hold her hips against his, and he ground up against her a few times, then rolled and grappled clumsily with her until she was beneath him before he continued. The whole time the bed making a good deal of noise as it shook—springs squeaking, headboard knocking against the wall—and Rey was squealing with unhinged delight, trying to find some ticklish spot on his torso to get him to stop. They were both being offensively stupid, but in the moment she was only capable of processing the fact that it was enjoyable.

And yes, it was definitely a good thing Rose was not around. She was the sort of person who would not hesitate to barge in and yell at them for disturbing the peace, particularly since they’d forgotten to close the bedroom door. She wouldn’t even care if she found them mid-fuck; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already graphically seen them at it. In fact, she would probably consider their actual current state of erratic and decidedly unerotic dry-humping much stranger.

“Augh, no more mashing!” Rey insisted, grabbing at his arms and chest in an attempt to allay him. “I command it!”

He moved off of her, snickering to himself and getting in a few more no-less-wet-and-sloppy kisses. “Yes, princess.”

“Your _flattery_ ”—Rey began, wiping some tears from her eyes as she sat up—“will get you no”—she pulled her shirt off and fiddled with the hooks her bra—“no”—God, she was blitzed; this should not have been so difficult! Her words began to trail as she allocated more brain power to the unexpectedly complicated task of getting partially naked. “No . . . where . . .”

Ben, who had been watching her struggle with bleary-eyed amusement, sat up and chimed in. “Want some help there?”

“No!” But then she pouted and let her hands fall in abject defeat. “Yes. Please.” Between the two of them it still took about fifteen seconds to finally get her out of it. “ _Thank_ you.” 

She tossed it aside with a huff and settled back on his lap. Where were they again?

“You're welcome.” He’d taken one of her hands and was pecking his lips over her palm, a half-smothered smirk twisting his mouth. “Such tiny, feeble hands. My poor helpless princess.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed quietly. They should probably have been taking the time to get out of their pants as well, but it seemed like so much _work_. 

Get things unbuttoned. Then unzipped. Get one leg out. Then the other. Good God. And then underwear. And the whole insert tab A into slot B thing . . . her arms and legs were far too heavy for that shit. She’d managed to get out of her top—surely that earned a break? They could just . . . lie here and make out some more until the alcohol magically wore off and the real sexing could begin. 

That was how things worked, right? Was it too much to hope for that Ben might offer to make a meal of her for a while?

She pinched his side. “You're not gonna keep calling me princess all night are you?”

“You like it.” 

Well, he’d never done it outside the porno, so that seemed like a very bold statement but . . . yeah, actually, she didn’t hate it.

He leaned forward and planted his face against the side of her neck while his hands idly massaged her back. She had to admit, she was a little offended. Her boobs were right there in front of him and yet he hadn’t even acknowledged them! 

Had he just fallen asleep sitting up with her in his lap?

No, he was saying something, she thought, but it was lost in her skin. She pinched him again. “Speak up?”

He tilted his chin to that his mouth was just pressed to her ear. “I love . . .” The next moment he seemed to lose his train of thought.

“You love?”

“Hmmmm. I love . . .” He shook with a long, loose laugh, and suddenly one of his hands had found its way to her breasts after all. But all he did was place his palm over one and press a bit like he was saying hello to it or granting it a blessing. “ . . . love your perfect little tits.”

Rey spluttered a laugh as Ben leaned back and finally seemed to realize that those tits he claimed to love so much were bare and waiting for his attention. He grinned rather stupidly and peered down at them. It was way more charming than it should have been, even when he continued rambling. “Look, they're so cute and little, right?”

“Hey, you seem really fixated on the ‘little’ part,” she warned. She did look though, and they looked pretty good in her opinion, and really she had no delusions about their size. He’d certainly never failed to show his appreciation. “Though you're right.”

“Perfect,” he said, poking the tip of her nose with a finger, then kissing it once. “Key word is ‘perfect’. That's the word I'm focusing on . . .”

Apparently he was still keen on licking things, because he dipped his face and dragged his tongue over her other breast, kissed his way back down from her clavicle, then closed his lips around her nipple and sucked, tickling her with the tip of his tongue. It felt pretty fantastic, despite nearly every sensation being slowed down and blunted like she was on a five-second delay. But soon he ruined it just a little by making a very alarming ‘mwah!’ sound as he drew back and rubbed her shoulders.

“Are you looking?” he asked, fixing her with a very serious stare, though his eyes almost immediately wandered down to her chest.

“Looking at what?” 

“At how . . .” He palmed both of her breasts. “Nice these are!” 

And then he was kissing them again, all over, and she was trying to oblige and look without getting a mouthful of his hair. He smelled so good tonight, looked so good tonight . . . the heat blossoming behind her navel had shuddered down into her groin as well, and it really was a shame she was losing her will to do much more than what they were already managing. Not that it wasn’t nice. She didn’t even have to do anything really, beyond let Ben entertain himself, which he certainly was.

So she laughed at how boyishly ridiculous he was acting and at how his beard tickled her a bit and at how gentle he was suddenly being. “Maybe you should write a poem about them.”

“Want me to?” He’d moved up to her throat and was drawing his fingers through her hair. “I’ll write . . . write . . . I’ll write a whole fucking folio. Fuckin’ . . . Shakespeare shit.”

She couldn't tell if he was being serious, or if he’d even remember this tomorrow—would _she_? She also wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hear what a poem written by a very drunk Ben Solo about her boobs would sound like. Given what he'd been saying tonight, she suspected the words “little" and “perfect" would figure prominently in his collected works. His “folio.” Who the hell used words like that at a time like this? Shakespeare shit, indeed.

“You don’t even . . .” She frowned as she worked out the rest of her claim. “ . . . _like_ poetry.” That was true. She knew that. She was proud to have remembered.

Ben gave an exaggerated scoff against her neck. “Yeah, but I like _you_. Love you. I’ll make an inspection for you.”

“An inspection?”

“That's what I . . . inspec— An inception.”

Rey tucked her face against the center of his chest, opened her mouth wide, and made a deep, bassy “BWWWWOOOONNGGG” sound before she realized how stupid it was. He didn’t even seem to notice as she sat there laughing at her own joke, because he was too busy blundering his way through the mysteries of the English language.

“ _Ex_ ception. That's what I said. An exception for you.” With that he flopped onto his back and looked up at her imploringly, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Rey . . . “

“Mm?”

“Here’s your first poem. That I wrote. Just now.” Her sought her hand with his and gripped it tightly. He looked like he was about to share the secrets of the universe with her. “I'm really tired, and . . . turned on, and you're so pretty . . . and . . . can I have a blowjob?”

“Impressive. But not very poetic?”

“It was free verse. _Fine_.” He cleared his throat. “Too tired to fuck. Please put my dick in your mouth. You divine beauty.” He was quiet for a few seconds and closed his eyes, then said, perfectly pleased with himself, “That was a haiku.”

Rey snorted. “Oh, good. I thought it was a telegram.”

Normally, she wouldn't have denied him what he was asking, but right now she didn't trust herself to get him out if his pants, not even enough for a quickie, let alone get him to come. She glanced down and gave his crotch a conciliatory pat—she was pretty sure he wasn't even completely hard yet. More work she just was not up to right now. She flopped down beside him.

“I can't.” She squinted at a shadow on the ceiling. “I think I'm done for tonight, actually.”

He groaned, or whined—it was difficult to say. “I said please.”

“Doesn't always get you what you want. And _I_ don't wanna fall asleep with your . . . dick halfway down my throat.”

“Might not be so bad.”

They both started laughing, and when Rey recovered she suggested, “Sleep it off?”

He sighed and rolled over to throw an arm over her, then pressed a few kisses to her shoulder. “Were the poems that bad?”

“No, they were . . .” God, she couldn't think. “Um.”

“Doggerel.”

“Dog food?”

“Hnh. That too.”

“Oh, Benjamin.” She fought a yawn, turning her head to kiss his forehead. 

She’d always found it funny that his parents had just named him ‘Ben’, but it was never funnier to her than when she was drunk. _Then_ it felt like a reverse nickname. Or now, she supposed, a pet name; one he’d used to entertain with a roll of his eyes. But tonight he didn’t seem to care, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he was drunk too, or because he liked it and no longer felt obligated to pretend he didn’t. 

Rey smiled sleepily and traced the pads of her fingers in little circles over his ribs and stomach. “Don't worry, I still love you anyway.” She did yawn then, unable to swallow it down a second time. “Maybe you'll make them better tomorrow. Your dog food poems.”

“Maybe.” 

He stroked her cheek a few times with his thumb, then dipped his head, smirking again. She felt his lips brush the top of her right breast, could have sworn she heard him say ‘goodnight’ to it, and was positive he had when he did the exact same thing to her left. Before she could soundly mock him—because her brain had caught up and she _was_ about to soundly mock him, or try to—he kissed her so sweetly on the lips that when he broke away she had changed her mind. 

“And goodnight to you too, princess.” 

A kiss like that was far more worth the breath spent on it than was teasing him for something neither of them were likely to remember come morning. She sighed, and the butterflies in her stomach settled. “Goodnight.” 

Rey drew her arms around him to keep him from pulling too far away. They were both flushed and sloshed, and the light was still on, and the door was still open, but she didn’t really care. When he settled against her chest she buried her face in his hair. It had been over a month since he’d come back, and she could still hardly believe it. 

He was here. He was hers. He was so warm. He smelled like home. This was all she wanted right now. 

She was asleep in minutes.


End file.
